Vanilla and Salt
by SassyAngel05
Summary: Doyle remembers is the taste of Vanilla lip gloss and salty tears. He doesn't remember dying. CD undertones. Set after Hero. Angst


Title: Vanilla and Salt

Author: Sassy

Rating: PG

Pairing: Cordelia and Doyle undertones, but not exactly.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this story. I'm learning to accept that fact.

Genre: Major Angst.

Summary: Doyle remembers the taste of vanilla lipgloss and salty tears. He doesn't remember dying. One Parter.

**_Vanilla and Salt_**

****

Doyle felt like he was floating. It was as if he were having an out of body experience. He remembered searing pain, hot flesh melting away from his bones. He remembered salty tears and vanilla flavored lips as the scent of plumeria attacked his nose. He remembered pride bubbling, protectiveness flowing, and self-worth arriving. But he didn't remember why he was floating listlessly above the pavement, unable to touch Cordelia or speak to Angel. He didn't remember evaporating into thin air with only his soul remaining. He didn't remember his last pained and horrifying scream piercing the almost silent ship. He didn't remember tugging helplessly at the giant cord, unable to pull it apart without sacrificing himself a hero. In a way, it was better. In a way, it wasn't. Confusion reigned as he watched Cordelia stumble away from the _Quintessa_, tanned, smooth skin streaked with tears and grime. Angel followed her a safe distance away, out of staking range, but close enough to help her if she required it. Angel-king of no expressions-wore one of shell shock, as if not believing anything had happened. And Doyle wondered why he wasn't there to give Angel a buck up, you're still undead pep talk or tell Cordelia that no matter how much grime and tears streaked her face, she was still the prettiest girl he'd ever laid eyes on. He didn't understand why he couldn't take Cordelia in his arms and taste vanilla again. He remembered that kiss. He never in his entire life thought that Cordelia Chase would let his half-demon lips touch hers, but she had. In his heart, he knew she had wanted him to kiss her. It wasn't just another one of his semi-erotic fantasies. But now he couldn't even hear her. He couldn't even fantasize. All he wanted to do was walk next to his friends again. Cordelia finally knew the truth about his heritage and she was willing to let that go. Cordelia, professional demon hater, was willing to let it go. That almost made him proud of his Bracken side, that Cordelia could decide he was an okay demon, he must be good for something. But now he couldn't feel anything at all besides the confusion. He wondered if he would give up a relationship with Cordelia for the chance to feel something again other than the confusion that covered his mind. Almost as soon as Doyle wished to feel something again, the mute button was turned off, the switch was flicked on, and he could hear everything surrounding him.

Cordelia was now alone in her apartment after sending Angel away angrily. Doyle missed what it was that she said to him, but he could hear her now; hear the clicking of her shoes on the floor in her apartment. She didn't speak or smile. She didn't even look in the hallway mirror as she brushed by it. Doyle didn't think he'd ever seen Cordelia Chase bypass the chance to check her appearance in the mirror, especially after a night like that one. Doyle wished he knew what was wrong. He wished he knew why she didn't know he was there watching her in a non-stalker-y way. Why didn't she speak to him, yell at him, complain with him. Where was the spirited princess? Why did she not try to find a way to put him back inside his body? He wanted to feel Cordelia again. He wanted to feel his own skin again.

He watched as Cordelia dropping her head and curled into fetal position. She was oddly silent and suddenly she screamed. It was piercing and heart-wrenching and Doyle felt completely helpless. She jumped from the bed madly and reached for anything she could. The lamp connected with her outstretched palm and fell off the cheaply made night table to shatter into little pieces on the floor. She began ripping at the bedding, her hair flying around her face, tangling with her frantically moving arms. Doyle wondered if Cordelia had lost her mind. He'd never even heard a scream as haunting as Cordelia's. He hoped a banshee hadn't possessed her. After all, banshees loved to scream and cause destruction. Before he had any more time to wonder why Cordelia was acting insane, she crumpled to the floor in a heap of limps. He heard his name being whispered, pain and reverence echoing in the voice. It took him a moment to realize that ghostly voice belonged to Cordy.

"Doyle…"

"What is it you're wanting, Princess? Didja know I was here the whole time, then?"

Cordelia didn't even turn to look at him or even try to answer him. In fact, she didn't even seem to acknowledge he was there. If it weren't for her quiet muttering of his name, he would think she didn't know. Doyle willed himself to walk forward-or glide forward-but his ethereal form seemed almost glued to his spot in the air. Doyle suddenly felt a presence behind him. He turned his head a bit and saw a man standing almost next to him. The man had dusty brown hair, pale skin, and old-fashioned clothing. The oddness in this man was his otherworldly appearance. The man was almost transparent.

"Who're you, then, that makes you think spying on Cordelia is okay?"

The man seemed almost startled. He cocked his head to one side.

"You can see me?"

" 'Course I can. And you should be thanking the Powers That Be that Cordy can't see you. She seems a bit wacky tonight."

"How can you see me? You've never been able to see me before."

"So this peepin' tom thing is a regular occurrence, then. Well, I'd recommend going back to spy school, because I can see you."

"I'm a ghost, man. I'm Dennis."

Doyle seemed taken aback by that answer. He definitely hadn't expected that explanation.

"The poltergeist that haunts the apartment?"

"Well, I don't really haunt. I just can't leave this place. How is it that you can see me again?"

"It must be this crazy out-of-body experience o' mine."

"Out of body?"

"I'm floating and I can't really remember what happened on the deck of the _Quintessa_ after kissing Cordelia."

He saw Dennis' eyes flash oddly and he wondered why. Dennis' airy appearance didn't ease Doyle's wonderment. He felt positively nutty himself for chatting with Cordelia's haunt.

"What is it?"

"I didn't say anything." Dennis seemed hesitant to even reply with those words. Doyle knew something was up by Dennis' shifty response.  
"You were thinking something right then."

"You're Cordelia's friend, aren't you? Mr. Doyle, right?"

"Just Doyle, but yeah."

"I'm afraid you're not experiencing just a little time away from your body."

"What would you be calling it then?"

"I think you died." Dennis watched him sympathetically. He definitely felt empathy for this man who didn't even know he was dead yet. It had been like that at first for Dennis too. But when his mother died, he had figured it out when the holy terror started working on him with her ghost-like appearance. He'd figured that she was an apparition and so was he. Now it was Doyle's turn to learn it.

Doyle began to laugh heartily, a full-out Irish laugh. His laugh bordered on hysterical until the memories started to him again. Sharp punch, vanilla and salt, plumeria, hot burning flesh, pain, and then nothing. Nothingness. The pain had vanished and so had everything else. Doyle instantly stopped laughing as a horrified look crossed his ethereal face. He started to shake his head as he staggered-floated-backwards.

"No. I - no. Things were just starting to work out. I can't be dead."

"It makes sense, Doyle. That's why you can see me. That's why you can't talk to Cordelia. You don't remember dying. I didn't, either, at first. But you will."

"I do remember. That's the problem. I just don't believe it. Oh, God, that's why Cordelia's been actin' all crazy, innit?"

"Probably."

"She must have cared for me, then, because she wouldn't be acting like that if she didn't."  
"True."

"She let me kiss her. Before I - she did. She tasted like vanilla and salt, the perfect mixture of sweetness and tang. It was a good taste, it was. She was crying, too, just bawling. She cried for me and I'm doomed to watch her for the rest of my ghostly existence. How is this fair? Being here but not being able to touch her, talk to her, smell her. I'll have to watch her and always wonder what could have been. I sacrificed myself and I'm being punished?"

"Did you stop to think that maybe it's a gift to you. You can still watch over Cordelia instead of wonder what happened to her. You know what she feels now that you're gone. You will be able to see her grow as a woman and be happy again. That has to count for something, Doyle. Just think about it."

Doyle paused as he considered what Dennis had said. Dennis had nothing to do with his death and subsequent punishment/gift. Dennis had died a horrible death by the hand of his own mother and then he had had to live with that very mother's ghost. No, he couldn't take his anger out on the poor apparition. Doyle's mood fell almost contemplative as his anger simmered.

"I think I could have been in love with her, if I'd been given the chance ta."

"She probably could have loved you, too, Doyle."

Doyle turned his attention back on Cordelia, who was now pulling herself weakly back onto the bed. She laid down tiredly, eyes closed, as she finally seemed to calm.

"Do you think I'll always be here, watching her?"

"Until you can _move_ on, whatever that means. I'm not exactly the expert on that."

"How will I able to move on?"

Dennis' eyebrows rose curiously as he smiled ironically at Doyle.

"You're asking me, Ghost of Christmas Past for fifty years."

"Right."

Dennis studied Doyle at that moment, and then Cordelia. Dennis saw the same lost looks on their faces, almost identical, though for different reasons. Dennis wondered for a moment if Cordelia had ever really lost someone close to her. She'd lost people, friends and such, in Sunnydale, but none of them she'd really been close to. She had been close with Doyle. Dennis wondered if his own fiancée had acted as Cordelia had or if she thought Dennis had just deserted her. Dennis wished often that he could haunt Wendy instead of Cordelia. At least Doyle got to see Cordelia, even if he didn't get to say all the things he'd wanted to say before he'd virtually committed suicide. He still wondered what had happened to Wendy, a gnawing in his gut wonder that was never alleviated. His fiancée was never far from his mind. Dennis looked away from the two oddly star-crossed lovers because looking at them brought too many painful memories back. Memories of Wendy.

"You can still help her, Doyle. Get her a Kleenex or sweep up the lamp remnants. We could even let her know there are two of us here, and she'd probably be able to put together who the second one was."

Doyle shook his head slightly as understanding hit him.

"I'll help her, but let's just leave things be. Cordy needs to move on. If she thought I was here with her; she might just dwell on that fact. 'Course, I'm probably a bit of an egotist there."

"Whatever you want, Doyle. It's your choice."

"I'm getting quite sick of havin' to make choices all the time."

Dennis smiled again before beginning to float away. He stopped in the door jam and glanced back.

"It might be nice, having a friend that I can talk to. I get tired of talking to myself all the time."

"It might not be bad 'tall. At least you know what it is I'm going through."

"That I do."

Dennis exited the room, leaving Doyle alone with Cordelia.

Doyle studied Cordelia in a way that was almost like absorbing her beauty. Her brown hair was tangled around her smooth, tanned face and Doyle wished he could brush that hair off of her cheek. He wished he could taste vanilla and salt again. He wished he could hear her playfully condescending tone as she told him what was wrong with his recent attire. He wished he could smell plumeria again. But he was doomed to watch her only. Doyle went to the hall closet to get away from the desire to touch Cordelia and picked up a broom. He needed to be doing something besides staring at Cordy. He began to sweep up the glass shards in the corner of the room. The tinkling of the glass made Cordelia turn her head around to face the corner.

"Thanks, Dennis, for doing that."

Doyle blanched and began to rethink his position on not letting Cordelia know he was there. Doyle dumped the broken glass into the trashcan half-heartedly, and then propped the broom up on the wall. He moved to sit on the bed, next to Cordelia, not that she knew. He ran his hands over her face and hair reverently. She felt nothing, though. He felt nothing.

"Ach, Princess, I'm sorry you're in pain because of me. I just wanted to save you, redeem myself. I let some of my relatives die by the scourge. I couldn't let you an' Angel do it, too.

"I don't regret it, destroying the Beacon myself. The only thing I regret is having to leave the world behind before I was ready to. I was just starting to think I had a place in the world. I had so much left to do. Drink myself into a stupor. Actually win a few of the bets I put up. Help Angel save the world. Find out if we could be in love. But this is the way it's going to be, I guess, and there's not much I can be doing to change it.

"Maybe it's better this way, for you. You can live your life - go on to your inevitable stardom. Actually get paid for your work. It'll be amazin' for you, and I'll be here to watch it, even if you're not aware of that fact.

Doyle leaned down and pressed his cold lips to her forehead, not that either of them felt it. Still, the action meant more than the actual contact to him. Cordelia stirred as if she did feel his lips. Of course, she had no idea of his presence. Doyle slid back as Cordelia sat up rigidly and slipped off the bed. She seemed to be on a mission now. Doyle decided he would follow her to wherever it was she was going. He didn't seem to be tied directly to Cordelia's house. Maybe because he hadn't died there like Dennis had. He seemed more tied to Cordelia than anything else. She grabbed her purse from the chair in the living room and headed for the door. "I'm going to talk to Angel, Dennis. I'll be back later, okay?" Cordelia didn't wait for an answer, but walked outside the door.

Doyle glanced around but didn't see Dennis anywhere, not that he didn't hear. Doyle debated whether to say something about going with Cordelia or not. He decided not.

Doyle recognized the musty, dank office that Cordelia walked into. She'd gone back to the good old Angel Investigations office alone. Doyle hated that she was there alone, as it was after dark in a bad part of the neighborhood, but that didn't seem to affect Cordelia. She was obviously used to the danger. Doyle watched as she pulled out an old TV from the corner and popped in a videotape. Before he knew what she was doing, his voice was lilting in the background about rats. Cordelia was watching the tape they had made earlier for the commercial. Tears glistened in her eyes as she watched Doyle on screen and Doyle felt his heart breaking all over again. There was the normal Cordelia, biting and sarcastic in the background of the tape, directing the then alive Doyle to say something correctly. Doyle watched as she rewound it and played it again, repeating the action several times. Doyle felt even more helpless than he had on the _Quintessa_. He moved to stand behind the couch she was sitting on, or at least stand beside it, just as Angel entered the room. He didn't say much. Angel seemed to know exactly what Cordelia was feeling. Doyle had never expected Mr. Broody to mourn his death. At least not seriously mourn it, the way he seemed to. He probably blamed himself. That was the kind of guy Angel was. Doyle began to feel all that he had lost again, just when he had resigned himself to his new situation. It angered him to be getting all worked up again. There was no use in it. Nothing would change because he was angry and upset. He would still be dead. Cordelia and Angel would still mourn him. He needed to accept what was happening. He heard Cordelia's voice quietly say, "He really was a hero. You'd never know it by looking at him, but he was."  
"Doyle was like that. He covered his bravery in all his problems and addictions."

"Like his drinking."

"And his gambling."  
"His clothing."

"His self-deprecating sense of humor."

Cordelia started to smile just a little bit. "His hiding his demon self."

"That was definitely a big one. I really think he was starting to come into some respect for his demon side too. He was starting to be more comfortable in that skin."

"And with those quills, it's kind of hard to believe."

Doyle chuckled at the pun Cordelia had just made. They didn't hear it, but he was glad to hear Cordelia make jokes again. He watched as the smile vanished from her face and her brown eyes looked up at Angel.

"He kissed me, you know. Before he jumped. It was magical. I know that sounds corny and romance novel-y, but it was. It was like electricity was being shot through my body."

"Doyle really cared for you, Cordelia."

"I know." Cordelia seemed undaunted by Angel's correction. "I think I could have loved him, Angel. But I'll never know now."  
Angel was quiet for a moment, letting Cordelia's words sink in.  
"No I guess you won't."

"I can still taste him. That's weird, isn't it?"

"Not at all. I still taste Buffy every day."

"But I didn't drink Doyle's blood."

"That's not what I meant, Cordelia."

"I know. He tasted like tequila. And salt. Like he'd been drinking just before he'd kissed me."  
"He probably had been."

Cordelia laughed lightly at the realization that Angel was right. She snuggled into a tighter ball as she focused on the screen again. Doyle watched them for several more moments while tingling sensation started to shoot through his legs. It was like they had fallen asleep while standing in the office watching Angel and Cordelia recollect him. Doyle watched as Angel leaned on the armrest of the couch, protectively near Cordelia. Angel would keep Cordelia safe. He was the type of person to take responsibility of her. And Cordelia would probably be able to take care of herself. She was stronger than she thought and sooner or later, she'd find that out. She'd take care of Angel, too. Stop him from brooding too much over his death. Doyle knew they would be able to survive without him.

"Do you think the kiss meant as much to him as it did to me? You know, while he was dying. Do you think he thought about it while he died?"

"I have no doubt he did. He finally got that kiss he'd been fantasizing about since he'd met you."

"I should have given him a chance before tonight, maybe then-"

"You can't go back and change things. You can't play the what if game. Believe me. I play it enough for both of us."

"I'll get worry wrinkles. And I definitely don't want a forehead like yours."

Angel smiled and put his hand on Cordelia's shoulders. She pressed the play button again and Doyle's voice rang through the empty office. Doyle felt weird to be watching them mourn him - or maybe it was that tingling sensation. He glanced down and saw that the lower half of his body had evaporated. Was this it, then? Moving on?

"You know, I did think about you and the kiss, Princess, while I was pulling the cord apart. I thought about you as I jumped to the Beacon. I think about you while I'm dead. And apparently, I'll think about you while I move on to wherever it is I'll go. Take care of her, Angel, man. Don't let her fall away. And don't be too sad for too long, Cordy. You sparkle too much to let that fade. Don't fade the way I did, Cordelia."

Doyle closed his eyes as the sensation moved up his body as it evaporated away. It felt like he had a hundred carpenter ants swarming over his body, making him itch and tingle. There was nothing he could do to stop it. As Doyle licked his lips, he could taste it again, vanilla and salt. He could hardly process what was happening to his ethereal body as he remembered Cordelia's lips on his, his tongue tasting the sweet and bitter. He relaxed, amazingly, falling into the memory of the taste. And then there was nothing.


End file.
